


All Theory Is Grey

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-14 08:52:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: 1969. Lord Voldemort needs money. In his desperation, he turns to Cygnus Black III, who sets a condition upon his donation - Voldemort must lavish attention on Cygnus' eldest daughter, Bellatrix, who worships Voldemort. Lord Voldemort begrudgingly agrees to dinner and tea with the girl. He just wasn't expecting to like it so much.





	1. Dinner and Tea

June, 1969

Lord Voldemort needed money.

Still known to most of the wizarding world as Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort was known by his preferred moniker by all those who mattered - all those within his inner circle. The problem was that that inner circle wasn't large enough yet. Voldemort had his old school friends as Death Eaters, but he had no real backing from the Pureblood establishment-at-large. He had no massive donations with which to pay off Ministry officials, to buy new followers, to purchase votes in the Wizengamot. He needed money.

He'd tried the Selwyns. He'd tried the Lestranges. Combined, their donations had been piddling, and they'd claimed they couldn't do more. He couldn't ask the Malfoys; they were already being beyond generous by donating use of Malfoy Manor as headquarters for the movement and as a residence for Lord Voldemort. The Crabbe and Goyle families were prestigious but poor. The Averys were largely unsympathetic except for a few members still waiting on inheritances.

Lord Voldemort needed money.

He had one Death Eater from the House of Black - Cygnus Black III. The wizard had been an old school 'friend' - lackey - of Tom Riddle and now lived a life a luxury, practically reveling in his family's wealth. As a Death Eater, he was less than useless, and more than once Voldemort had considered some way of expelling him from the organisation. But he thought it was unwise to kick anyone out once they had knowledge of the inside, so he kept Cygnus on. Once there were battles, Cygnus would probably get himself killed, anyway.

Today, Lord Voldemort was at Cygnus Black's front door in London, knocking on the shiny red door of the beautiful white Georgian townhouse where Cygnus lived. He was here for money.

The red door squeaked open, and on the other side of it was a wheezing little House-Elf in a raggedy, patchwork sort of dress  _thing_. Voldemort turned his nose up at the Elf and said firmly,

"I'm here to see your master."

"Yes, sir." The morose little House-Elf stepped aside so Voldemort could enter, and then she shut the door behind him and walked slowly away, off into a side corridor. A few moments later, Cygnus Black III, plump and round-faced and jovial, came striding out in bespoke, expensive blue robes.

"Sir!" He said happily, bowing his head. "What brings you to the Black home today?"

"May we speak privately, Cygnus?" asked Voldemort, and Cygnus suddenly looked a little worried. He beckoned for Voldemort to follow him into his office, and the two of them walked down the corridor and through a few doorways until they reached an elegant, mahogany-paneled room. Cygnus sat at his desk and gestured for Voldemort to sit, and suddenly Voldemort felt profoundly out of control in a way he didn't care for at all. He gulped and knitted his hands in his lap, then gathered himself and said plainly,

"I need money."

Cygnus' face read surprise then. His brows went up and his lips fell apart, and he nodded.

"Money," he said. "You mean that the movement needs money."

"I mean that the movement needs money," affirmed Voldemort. He folded his hands on the desk and said, "I need twenty thousand Galleons, Cygnus. Can you do it?"

Cygnus looked shocked. "Twenty thousand… Sir, that is… that is an enormous sum."

"I know. And I am asking it of you, my loyal Death Eater," said Voldemort. Cygnus sat back in his chair and seemed to be considering the request for a very long moment. He shut his eyes, gulped, and said,

"I may be able to… with a condition, sir."

"A condition." Voldemort sneered the word, feeling irritated but knowing he wasn't exactly in a position to be snapping about bargains. He sighed and asked, "What condition?"

"My daughter. My eldest daughter, Bellatrix. She longs to serve you. She is seventeen now, almost eighteen. She wants to become a Death Eater, too," said Cygnus Black, and he continued, "She is enamoured with you. Entranced by you. I ask that, in return for this donation, you give her attention."

"Attention?" Voldemort choked out the word. "I am not some sort of… of whore, Cygnus, to be -"

"Forgive me, Sir; that is not what I meant," said Cygnus quickly. He shook his head. "I meant to say, perhaps you might dine with her in Malfoy Manor and have a nice discussion. Perhaps you might have tea with her. That sort of attention."

"I do not have time to have tea with teenagers," hissed Voldemort, and Cygnus Black just stared right at him and shrugged.

"I understand, Sir. I do."

 _And that's why I won't give you twenty thousand Galleons_ , went unspoken. Voldemort gulped. Dinner and tea. He could manage that, surely. He blinked a few times and asked,

"She's home from school?"

"Just come home on the Hogwarts Express yesterday," confirmed Cygnus. "She could meet you for dinner at Malfoy Manor tomorrow, Sir. Shall we say… seven o'clock?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes a little and finally nodded. "Yes. Fine. And in exchange I get twenty thousand Galleons for the movement?"

"Twenty-five," smiled Cygnus, and Voldemort felt his heart thump a little.

"Seven o'clock tomorrow, then."

* * *

Bellatrix landed by Apparition in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, very glad she hadn't Splinched. She stared down at herself and made sure she was all straightened. She'd been careful not to dress up  _too_  much, but she still wanted to look nice. She'd worn a knee length black silk dress, belted with a thick beaded black belt, its sleeves long and draped. She wore knee-high flat boots, and she'd pulled half of her curly hair back. She strolled as confidently as she could up to Malfoy Manor and climbed the steps at the front, raising her hand to the enormous brass knocker. She knocked four times, and the door magically swung open with a slow creak.

Bellatrix stepped inside, and instantly was greeted by an enthusiastic, energetic House-Elf.

"Miss Bellatrix Black, I presume? Dobby is most pleased to welcome you to Malfoy Manor, Miss. Please, if you will follow Dobby up to the dining room, Miss Black. Yes, yes, just this way."

Bellatrix smiled a little as she walked up the main flight of stairs in the foyer and then down a wide corridor lined with dark wallpaper and many family portraits. To the left was a dining room into which Bellatrix was led, but it was empty. The table was set for two. Bellatrix felt so nervous coming here, knowing that her father had arranged all of this, but honestly she couldn't care. This was like meeting her favourite celebrity, and she was going to soak up every blessed minute of it. She sat at one of the places at the table that had been set, and Dobby said,

"He will be in shortly, Miss."

"Thank you, erm… Dobby." Bellatrix watched the House-Elf go, and then she studied the dining room around her. It was dark green and dark brown, all very heavy, but it was elegant and beautiful, too. Bellatrix quite liked it.

Suddenly the door to the dining room opened, and she flew to her feet. In walked the figure she'd been wanting to meet in person for years - Lord Voldemort. He wore black waffle weave woolen robes and had slightly greying but thick dark hair, his eyes black as coal. He shut the door and stepped inside, and he said gently,

"Sit. Please."

Bellatrix sat. She smiled a little at him, and as he sat opposite her and put his napkin on his lap, she said hesitantly,

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"I agreed because your father made a very large donation. So it was no trouble, really," he smirked. Bellatrix laughed nervously and scratched at her head. The first course of food appeared on their plates - seared scallops, and Bellatrix gasped.

"I adore scallops."

"Do you?" He seemed almost surprised. "They're my favourite seafood."

"Mine, as well." Bellatrix grinned at him and picked up her fork. "Mum despises them, so I so very rarely get to eat them. Thank you for having them, My Lord."

He froze. Bellatrix kept eating, but he asked her gravely,

"What did you just call me?"

Bellatrix realised that perhaps she had made a mistake. She set her fork down and admitted,

"When I think of you, in my mind, erm… that sounds odd. I just… to me, you are  _My Lord_. It seems the most respectful -"

"It is." He sighed and finished his scallops, and when the second course of steak with haricots verts appeared, he cut into his meat and said, "Your father says you want to be a Death Eater. Why?"

"I know there will be battles," said Bellatrix, cutting into her own steak and taking a bite. She chewed it and swallowed it and then drank some of the red wine that had filled itself. She told him, "I want to fight for you. I want… I want to be a soldier for you."

"Oh, you do, do you?" He seemed almost amused by that, but Bellatrix tipped her head up and demanded,

'With all due respect, My Lord, what exactly qualifies my father to be a Death Eater more than me?"

He smiled down at his steak and shook his head. "Precisely nothing."

"I would give you everything," she whispered, and he looked almost like he'd shivered. His face went serious, and he nodded.

"How do you care for the steak?" he asked, and Bellatrix cleared her throat.

"It's good," she lied, for it was a bit underdone for her taste. Voldemort smirked at aimed his wand at her steak. It cooked up a bit, and she flashed her eyes up to him. She stared for a moment, in awe of him, and she whispered,

"Thank you. Sir. My Lord."

"It's nothing. You know, I find I do not mind this dinner so much, after all," he said.

They had lemon cake for dessert, and at the end of the evening, Voldemort walked over to Bellatrix's chair and used his wand to pull it out for her. The two of them walked together down the corridor toward the foyer of Malfoy Manor, and Voldemort stared down at her all the while. She wondered what he was thinking, until he asked,

"Have you got… Are you… What is your situation?"

"My situation, sir?" Bellatrix was confused. Voldemort sniffed and said tightly,

"Boyfriend, arranged marriage, things like that. Situation."

"Ah. I, erm… I haven't got a situation, sir," Bellatrix said. She flashed him a little smile, and he just nodded. He asked her, as they walked down the foyer steps,

"What's your favourite school subject?"

It felt like their dinner conversation wasn't ending. Bellatrix grinned and told him,

"I like Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"That wasn't the answer I was expecting," he teased, and she shrugged.

"Know thy enemy and all that, eh?"

"Ah." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. He cleared his throat a little and bowed his head, and he told her, "Well, I agreed to dinner and tea. So, perhaps tea. Tomorrow. Four o'clock. Don't be late; I'm a busy man."

"I won't be late, My Lord," said Bellatrix, feeling like she'd come alive all of a sudden. She studied his handsome face, and she wanted nothing more than for him to put his lips to her forehead to say goodnight. But he just nodded and turned to walk away, leaving her alone in the foyer, swooning like an idiot.

**Author's Note: I'm going back to my roots with this story. For those who say it feels too familiar, I'm just going to go ahead and say, "Don't like it, don't read it." I have fun writing this type of story, so there. Haha.**

**Raise your hand if you don't think they'll stop at dinner and tea? Everyone's hands up? Good. Okay. Let us proceed.**


	2. Stingers

He hadn't expected her to be so pretty.

She had shown up for dinner in a pretty black dress, with her pretty curls half pulled back. She had pretty brown eyes, wide and eager. She had pretty full lips. She had smelled like roses. She had been entirely too attractive for Lord Voldemort's taste. He didn't like finding witches attractive. It made him feel weak, and he disliked feeling weak. Women were a weakness. Bellatrix had made him feel far weaker than he'd liked.

But here he was, waiting in the sitting room off the main corridor of Malfoy Manor's first floor. He was waiting for tea. Like a complete idiot.

He cleared his throat and stared out the window at the rain that was falling in sheets. Surely she'd get soaked in this. He sighed at the thought of that, at the idea of her getting all wet out in this rain, and he wondered why he cared even one bit about that. But she'd been downright pleasant at dinner the night before. She had been… amiable, and attractive, and…

"Miss Bellatrix Black has come to see you, sir," said Dobby from the doorway, and Voldemort slowly rose.

"Bring the tea cart in, Dobby," he commanded.

"Yes, sir," said Dobby, and then Bellatrix appeared, soaked to the bone in a black jumper and long black skirt. Her curls hung damp around her face, and she said apologetically,

"I got caught in the rain, My Lord. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for the weather?" he asked disbelievingly. "Don't be silly. Come. Sit."

She joined him in two armchairs facing one another near the window, and she smiled a bit at him as she said,

"This is your last obligation, sir. Then you're free from my obnoxious presence."

"I do not find your presence obnoxious," Voldemort shrugged. The tea cart appeared out of thin air, so he put a bag of ginger lemongrass tea into a cup and poured hot water over it. He watched Bellatrix select a bag of mint tea and pour herself some water, and then they each spooned in just a hint of sugar.

"I don't like mine too sweet. Just a little," Bellatrix noted.

"People who put milk in their tea should go to Azkaban," Voldemort joked. Bellatrix laughed and agreed,

"You can't taste the tea through the milk!"

"Quite so." Voldemort watched his tea steep into the white cup, and he gulped heavily. He liked her. She was pleasant.

"Do you care for Quidditch?" she asked, and he raised his eyes to her and sighed.

"I watched in school. Never played. The idea of losing made me… uncomfortable. And you?"

"I played Chaser until I was kicked off the team in my fifth year for skipping practises," Bellatrix said. "But I was skipping practises because I was reading in the library, or working on new potions, or studying the Dark Arts they don't teach us in school. Ah, well. More important than Quidditch, anyway."

"Do you still cheer for Slytherin?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix smiled a bit.

"Of course. And for the Wimbourne Wasps."

"You're a Stinger?" Voldemort sat up straighter. He grinned from ear to ear and proclaimed, "I've been a Wimbourne fan since I was a boy."

"Have you?" Bellatrix laughed a little and shrugged. "I was meant to go to a match last summer with my father, but he wound up taking Andromeda instead. He was cross with me for getting myself kicked off the Quidditch team. So it's been a while since I've seen them in person."

Voldemort's stomach flopped. He was attending the match between the Wimbourne Wasps and the Appleby Arrows the very next day. He had two tickets, but he was going alone. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt very dry all of a sudden. He sipped his strong tea and then pulled the bag out, Vanished it wandlessly, and sipped again. He said carefully,

"I've got two tickets to the match tomorrow. Against Appleby."

"Have you?" Bellatrix's face went serious, and her hands knitted together on her lap. Voldemort's throat hurt all of a sudden. He sipped more tea. He couldn't get past the knot that had formed. He set his cup down and said,

"Abraxas Malfoy was meant to go with me to the match - they're his tickets, actually - but he has a last-minute work assignment at the Ministry and can't go. And so I have a free ticket."

"Have you?" Bellatrix asked again, her voice cracking just a little this time.

"Would you care to go with me?" asked Voldemort, realising what he had just done. He had agreed to dinner and tea. Dinner and tea. That was it. But, as it turned out, he liked Bellatrix's company more than just dinner and tea. He didn't want for today to be the last time he saw her. He wanted to see her in yellow and black for Wimbourne. He wanted to see her cheer for the Wasps. He wanted…

Damn him. He wanted to spend more time with her.

He was a busy man, he thought. He had things to do, and spending time with Bellatrix Black was not one of those things. But here he was, asking her on what was essentially a date, and here she was, smiling serenely and nodding vigorously, and he said crisply,

"That's settled, then. Be here at nine o'clock tomorrow and we'll go to the match by Portkey. I'll make it up tonight."

They spent the rest of the tea talking about silly things. Stupid things. They talked about whether or not Voldemort was comfortable staying at Malfoy Manor, and what sorts of things Bellatrix missed about school when she was home for the summer. Voldemort felt  _human_  talking to her. He felt like a real man, not the monstrous statue, the beast he'd made himself into for the purposes of keeping others at arm's length. He felt real. He felt whole talking to her.

After awhile, the tea went cold, and neither of them cared. They were laughing, talking about a time when Bellatrix had been in Potions with Horace Slughorn and he'd given them the wrong instructions, causing an entire classroom to fill with Nasal Voice Gas. Everyone had been speaking with the most obnoxious voices for hours as a result, Bellatrix had said. Voldemort laughed, genuinely laughed, at the story. Finally, after a very long while, it started to get darker outside the window, and he glanced at his pocket-watch.

"My goodness." He shut the pocket-watch. "It's nearly seven. Your parents will fret about you, I expect."

"I should get home for dinner," Bellatrix insisted, rising from her chair. She bowed her head and said respectfully, "My Lord, thank you for a truly marvelous tea."

"The pleasure was mine, Miss Black," said Voldemort. "Be here tomorrow at nine for that Wimbourne match."

She stared at him for a long moment, as though she couldn't believe he really meant to ask her to that, and she finally blinked and said softly,

"I shall be here, sir."

* * *

"Where are you off to?" asked Andromeda, and Bellatrix stared into the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She adjusted her gold-and-black striped jumper and her black pleated skirt and asked,

"Where does it look like I'm off to, Andy?"

"Looks like you're off to a Wimbourne match," said Andromeda, leaning against the door. "Who's taking you? Daddy?"

"No. Lor… erm… Tom Riddle." Bellatrix knew that Andromeda did not share her father's predilections about Pureblood supremacy. Narcissa and Druella Black knew Lord Voldemort by his chosen name, but Andromeda consistently insisted that he was Tom Riddle, and Bellatrix wasn't in the mood for a fight. Right now, she scoffed, shoving her silky brunette hair from her eyes.

"Tom Riddle's taking you to a Wimbourne match? Why?"

"Is it really your business why?" Bellatrix snapped. "He had an extra ticket."

"He… had an extra ticket." Andromeda stepped into the bedroom and folded her arms over her chest. "Are you and he…?"

"What? No!" Bellatrix wished with all her might that she could answer  _yes_  to that open-ended enquiry, but as far as she knew, there was nothing between her and Lord Voldemort. She shook her head and said, "It's just a day at a match. Two enthusiastic Stingers. That's all."

"Good. Because not only is he a Pureblood supremacist git; he's also, what, twenty-five years older than you?" Andromeda dragged her fingers through her hair again, an annoying habit. Bellatrix huffed and whispered,

"Have a good day, Andy. See you."

She Disapparated then, coming to in the gardens outside Malfoy Manor. She walked quickly up to the front door and knocked, and when Dobby granted her entrance, he told her he'd be bringing her to Lord Voldemort's office. She followed him up the foyer stairs and down the main corridor to a door on the right, and Dobby knocked.

"Enter," snapped Voldemort's voice from inside the office. Dobby went in and announced Bellatrix, and Voldemort shooed Dobby away. Bellatrix went inside, and she was surprised to see that Voldemort was wearing black robes with a bright yellow tie. He'd actually worn Wimbourne colours. She grinned at him and said,

"You look like a proper Stinger, My Lord."

"So do you." He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering in a few places for a moment or two. Bellatrix approached his desk and asked,

"Have you got the Portkey? I'm so excited for this match."

"Yes. It's this old quill right here," he said. "It'll take us straight to Dorset. Ready?"

"Ready," said Bellatrix. She reached with him for the Portkey, and when she did, his hand touched hers. She didn't let go, even through the pinching, whirling, flying sensation. She held onto the quill, feeling his fingers cover hers, until he commanded her in a shout,

"Release!"

She did, landing with a  _thump_  on the grassy earth. Voldemort managed to land much more elegantly, and he helped Bellatrix up at once. Bellatrix looked around and grinned broadly. There were witches and wizards everywhere, clad in pale blue and silver for Appleby and yellow and black for Wimbourne. Voldemort moved smoothly through the crowd, and people seemed to part like a sea for him. They all recognised him; he was well-known. As Bellatrix followed him, there were whispers.

_Is that… You-Know-Who?_

_Tom Riddle, yeah._

_Think it's Lord Voldemort, isn't it?_

_Whoever it is, it's him._

_What's he doing at a Wimbourne match?_

_Enjoying himself, probably._

_Who's that girl tagging behind him?_

_Bellatrix Black, innit?_

Bellatrix ignored all the murmurs, the voices around them, and she moved with him toward the enormous Quidditch pitch that was outfitted in huge yellow and black banners.

"Ready to buzz to annoy the opposing Chasers?" she asked, and Voldemort smirked at her over his shoulder.

"I'll let you do the buzzing," he said. "We have the Premier Box."

"We do?" Bellatrix was shocked to hear that. It made sense, though, if the tickets were Malfoy's. The Malfoy family was profoundly wealthy. They could afford whatever tickets they wanted. Bellatrix followed Voldemort toward one of the seating towers, and when they approached, Voldemort handed over two tickets to a uniformed witch.

"Mr Riddle," said the witch politely. "Please, allow me to escort you to -"

"I know the way," said Voldemort plainly. He led Bellatrix up three flights of wooden stairs on the interior of the tower. All the way up, she could see the glow of yellow and the dark of the black from the banners. They waved and crackled in the wind. It was truly enchanting. Bellatrix and Voldemort reached the top of the tower, and there they found the Premier Box, with four sets of two luxurious leather chairs separated by railings and stairs. Obviously, this was where those with money sat.

"These are our seats, just here," said Voldemort, and he gestured to a leather chair for Bellatrix. She sat, and so did he, and they chatted aimlessly about the two teams and their history until the Amplified voice announced the players on both teams. Bellatrix flew to her feet and buzzed right along with the rest of the Stingers. She glanced down to Voldemort, and he smiled up at her as she buzzed and cheered. Then the referee came out and announced that this would be a clean match, and the Golden Snitch and Quaffle and Bludgers were released.

The match was thrilling but short. Allyce Johanssen of the Wimbourne Wasps scored fifty points all on her own. But then Cyprus Arley of the Appleby Arrows caught the Golden Snitch by soaring very far up into the heavens, his arm extended. The crowd cheered and jeered all at once as Cyprus Arley closed his fist around the Golden Snitch, and Bellatrix stomped her foot in frustration.

"Agh!" she exclaimed. "We've lost!"

"Well, you win some, and you lose some, and that's why I didn't play on the school team," said Voldemort from his chair. Bellatrix managed a laugh, even though she was upset about the match.

"We can Disapparate back to Malfoy Manor straight from here," he offered, and Bellatrix nodded. She didn't want to fight the crowd. She was shocked when Voldemort reached for her hand, slipping his fingers through hers, and Disapparated.

They came to in the gardens outside Malfoy Manor, both of them still breathing quickly, still clad in yellow and black.

"Well, a sad outcome," said Voldemort, "but thrilling just the same, wasn't it?"

"It was." Bellatrix stared up at him. She wanted to reach for his jaw. She wanted to reach for his chest. She wanted to hold his hand again like they'd done on the Portkey, like they'd done when he'd Disapparated with her.

Instead she just watched as his throat bobbed visibly, and as his eyes flashed strangely, and he murmured,

"This… this will be the last time, then, I suppose."

"You promised my father dinner and tea," Bellatrix replied. "I got a whole Wimbourne Wasps match extra."

"Extra." Voldemort's breath seemed to accelerate a little, and he asked quietly,

"Are you going to the wedding on Saturday? Annia Mulciber and Thoren Bulstrode."

"Ah. Erm. Yes, I'm going," Bellatrix nodded, and Voldemort curled up half his mouth.

"Well, I shall see you there, then. Will you… would you save a space on your dance card for the Dark Lord?"

"For the Dark Lord, I would do anything and everything," Bellatrix said, and a cool wind blew over the both of them. Bellatrix shivered a bit, and Voldemort reached up to tuck back the hair that had blown in front of her face.

"You'll make a good and loyal servant someday," Voldemort told her. "For now, I wonder what sort of dance partner you'll be. Have a good day, Miss Black."

"Good day, My Lord," said Bellatrix, stepping back a few paces and Disapparating. She came to inside her own bedroom again, and she found herself staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror again.

She stared at the yellow and black jumper, at the black pleated skirt. She remembered his tie. She remembered his face. She remembered the buzzing in the Quidditch pitch. She remembered tea with him, laughing with him, smiling at him. Him smiling back.

And she grinned like a madwoman into the mirror.

**Author's Note: My, my, my, but this fic is fun to write.**

**To the PM who said, "Your Voldemort isn't like canon," I just want to throw out there that people write super non-canon pairings all the time, including ones that turn characters gay or straight when they canonically aren't (i.e. Draco/Harry, Ginny/Hermione, Sirius/Remus). People write Dark!Harry and Slytherin!Hermione. Basically, the character is "supposed to be" whomever you want them to be in your story. So if I want Voldemort to be "more human" than we perceive him to be from the super limited info we have about the First Wizarding War, that's cool. It's my choice. And that's me climbing off my soapbox now!**

**Thank you so very much to those who are reading this fic, and a MASSIVE thank you to those who are reviewing. The feedback means the world to me.**


	3. Chapter 3

Voldemort always felt like a complete and utter moron wearing tuxedo robes. He'd grown up in an orphanage, after all; Hogwarts school robes had been the fanciest attire he'd owned for years. Now he stared at himself in the mirror in his suite at Malfoy Manor and thought that not only did he look foolish, but he also looked profoundly old.

Creating Horcruxes had aged him considerably, he knew, but he'd never  _felt_  old until now. He was forty-two; he'd be forty-three in December. But somehow he looked older than that to his own eye. His hair, once dark and thick, was thinning and retreating back from his forehead. There were streaks of grey in it. When he let his scruff grow in, it was more grey than black. He had wrinkles around his eyes, and around his lips, and he frowned now to observe all those things about himself.

It was time to go. He didn't want to be anywhere near the first one to arrive at the wedding, but he also didn't want to make a scene by being catastrophically late. So he strode out of his suite, out to the Apparition Point, and he Disapparated. The Malfoys had already gone on ahead, he knew. They wanted to be early; their son Lucius was on the Slytherin Quidditch team, as had been the recently graduated groom, Thoren Bulstrode. Lucius was promised to marry Narcissa Malfoy, who was two years younger than him. Voldemort wondered just how that marriage would work out.

The Bulstrode home was grand, a Yorkshire manor that was far better suited for hosting a Pureblood wedding than the tiny Mulciber estate in Surrey. Voldemort walked between the floating lanterns leading from the Apparition point outside the garden gate to the front doors of the manor. It was all twinkling and enchanting, and he sighed. He despised maudlin events like this. But it was important for him to come, for networking purposes. He had needed to go literally beg Cygnus Black III for money. Whilst Thoren Bulstrode's uncle and Annia Mulciber's cousin were Death Eaters, the direct family of those being married were not.

His invitation had read  _Tom Riddle._

And so it was important for him to come to stupid, silly events like this one and coordinate with new people, to show his face, to show how grand and elegant he was. There were still those who believed that the Half-Blood Tom Riddle had no place in Pureblood society, much less at the top of it. It was up to Voldemort to prove them wrong, and he felt like he needed to do so quickly.

He walked into the manor and was escorted into a ballroom by a House-Elf. He immediately set to work talking. He spoke with the father of the bride, thanking him for the invitation and reminding him that he believed Pureblood marriages were the most sacred and wondrous union that existed in wizardkind. He spoke with the parents of the groom, congratulating them on their son's marriage and telling them that he appreciated the Bulstrode family's spacious and beautiful home, that they were shining examples of Pureblood life. He spoke with the grandparents of the bride and groom, with aunts and uncles, and then at last the ceremony was about to begin and everyone was meant to take their seats.

And then he saw her.

Bellatrix Black, wearing a caped black floor-length gown in silk that moved like water. There she was, standing there with her curls cascading down over her shoulders, obviously tamed with Sleekeazy's. There she was, her lips painted burgundy and her eyes lined black. She was a gothic goddess tonight, and Voldemort found himself speechless. She stared at him from where she sat with her family, and she just smiled a little. Her sisters were arguing about something. Her parents were chatting animatedly, smiling at one another. But Bellatrix had her eyes locked onto Lord Voldemort, and she just smiled a little.

He curled his lips up at her, knowing that if anyone were watching, he'd look like a fool.

"Hello, there, sir."

Voldemort snapped his face to the side to see Abraxas Malfoy take a seat beside him with his wife, Nadeen, and his son Lucius. Abraxas followed the place where Voldemort's gaze had gone, to Bellatrix, and a knowing look came over his face. He cleared his throat and asked,

"How was that Wimbourne match, sir? So sorry I missed it."

"Thank you for the tickets, Malfoy. We had a fine time despite the loss," said Voldemort.

"We," repeated Abraxas, a question in his voice. Voldemort gulped.

"Miss Black and I. I took the liberty of inviting her when she mentioned at tea that she was a Stinger."

"Ah! Well, I'm glad you had a good time, sir," said Abraxas, smiling crookedly. Voldemort wanted to scold him for prying, but the ceremony began. Fortunately, it was a brief handfasting. Each parent of the bride and groom did a brief reading from a historical writing on wizarding love. Then everyone sang an old song about husbands and wives, the same one sung at every real wizarding wedding.

" _May you always keep your arms wrapped tightly round one another. Filled with love and filled with patience, may you always guard each other…"_

Then their hands were bound up with ribbon that was enchanted by the Ministry wizard performing the ceremony, and with their hands clasped and tied together, Annia and Thoren kissed and were declared man and wife. Witches sobbed through it all, including Druella Black. Narcissa and Andromeda Black seemed heavily burdened by emotion. But Bellatrix looked completely unaffected. She clapped along with the others, and then Voldemort noticed she'd varnished her nails shiny black.

She was lovely, he thought. Why was she so lovely? It was only meant to be dinner and tea. Dinner and tea with a cloying teenager in exchange for a large donation. That was it. That was all it was meant to be.

That was all it was, he told himself as the bride and groom walked down the aisle made between the two sections of chairs. That was all it was. Dinner and tea. And a Wimbourne Wasps match. But that was all. She was just a pesky teenaged girl. She was just an obnoxious little hanger-on. She was just part of a bargain.

Still, as he stood in the transformed ballroom, he helped himself to an inordinately large amount of firewhisky. He didn't bother networking now. He just stood and watched as others milled about and talked. He should be spending his time hinting that he needed donations, he thought. He should be spending his time asking for support.

Instead, all he could do was drink and drink as he watched Bellatrix Black dance with one young wizard after another. She even danced with the groom. Even he had a go at her. Rodolphus Lestrange danced with her twice in a row, and that was too much for Voldemort. Setting his glass down and feeling a little tipsy, he strode up to the dance floor, to where Bellatrix stood laughing with Rodolphus - another young aspirational Death Eater, Voldemort knew - and he jutted out his hand like an overeager schoolboy.

"Miss Black," he said, far too loudly, "May I have this next dance?"

"My Lord." Bellatrix smiled up at him as Rodolphus moved stealthily away. She gave him a toothy grin then and admitted, "I didn't think you were going to ask me, and I certainly wasn't brave enough to ask you."

"Why wouldn't I ask you?" Voldemort pulled Bellatrix into a dancing stance, putting his right hand beneath her cape and feeling bare back there, and then wrapping his left hand around her right one. He began to sway with her, and he reminded her, "I told you the other day I was going to dance with you at this wedding?"

"My Lord, have you been drinking?" Bellatrix asked carefully, and Voldemort shrugged as he admitted,

"Just a little. Why? Is it that obvious?"

"It's a little obvious." Bellatrix laughed a bit. "It doesn't matter. It's a wedding. Half the people here are smashingly drunk. You're better off than most."

"And you?" asked Voldemort. "Have you been drinking?"

"Just a little." Her eyes were shining, he saw then. He peered into her mind with gentle Legilimency and saw three glasses of red wine downed. He pulled back out, and she frowned a little.

"Were you just…"

"In your mind? Yes. Sorry. Should've asked, probably. I never ask." Voldemort smirked, and Bellatrix curled up her lips at him.

"I like how powerful you are, sir. It amazes me."

"Does it?" He felt a little breathless then, and his steps stumbled just a little. He shut his eyes and felt a very sudden urge, something he couldn't ignore, something he couldn't shove out of his brain.

"I need to go out into the corridor. Out onto the lawn," he corrected, and Bellatrix scowled.

"Are you all right? Do you need some air?" she asked.

He needed some  _her_ , he thought. He kept dancing with her, and as he stared right into her eyes, he whispered,

"You're a good dance partner, but I need to go get a breath of air on the lawn, Miss Black. Now."

"Yes, My Lord." She was obedient. He liked that. He liked her obedience. It made his heart accelerate, the way she talked to him.  _Yes, My Lord._  He let go of her and walked very quickly away, leaving her there on the dance floor.

* * *

Bellatrix walked slowly out of the Bulstrode manor and onto the lawn, which was covered with floating lanterns. She looked around until she saw him, standing there in the glow of the lanterns, his face looking more chiseled and sharper than ever in the warm golden glow of the lantern light. Bellatrix approached him, slowly, glancing around and realising they were entirely alone out here. Why was that? Had he Confounded everyone else to go back inside, or did no one else have interest in being out here?

Did it matter?

"My Lord." Bellatrix stepped up to him and bowed her head. It didn't feel like enough. She descended to a knee, right there in her gown, genuflecting before him and then rising again. She stared up at him and promised him, "I'll be a good soldier for you someday, if you let me do it."

"I'll allow it. Have no doubt." Voldemort stared straight into her eyes.

"You needed air," Bellatrix noted. "Too much firewhisky?"

"No." He closed the gap between them and put his hands on either side of Bellatrix's face. He tipped his head and asked, almost cheekily, "Will you slap me?"

For kissing her, he meant. Bellatrix's heart began to race, and she shook her head seriously. Voldemort lowered his face to hers and brushed his lips against Bellatrix's. It felt like she'd been zapped by a spell. She grasped at the front of his tuxedo robes, wanting so much more. More.  _More_. She leaned up, pushing up onto her tip toes, and Voldemort's hands tightened on her cheeks. He kissed her again, harder this time. The third time, his tongue crept between her lips and brushed along hers, and Bellatrix moaned like an absolute harlot into his mouth.

"Someone's coming." Voldemort pulled back and away, stumbling back a few steps. Bellatrix whirled around to see the Malfoy family coming down the front steps of the Bulstrode manor.

"Heading home so early, Malfoy?" Voldemort called casually to Abraxas, and he answered,

"Lucius here decided to drink underage, sir. He's in serious trouble with us, of course, and we're getting him home. Checking out early, I'm afraid. Oh. Hello, Miss Black."

He smirked a little at the way Bellatrix was standing so near Voldemort, all along in the lantern-lit lawn, and Bellatrix suddenly wondered how badly her lipstick was smudged. She got her answer when she saw Voldemort pull a handkerchief from the inside of his tuxedo robes and dab at his own lips. Bellatrix gulped with embarrassment, and once the Malfoys had gone, she whispered,

"I should go back inside."

"Dinner and tea," said Voldemort quietly, and Bellatrix raised her eyes to him.

"Yes. It was meant to just be dinner and tea," she said, but he shook his head and told her,

"I should like to invite you for another dinner. Another tea. Dinner on Monday. Tea on Wednesday. You're only home for a brief summer, so…"

He wanted to spend time with her. Bellatrix's eyes welled at that. She nodded fiercely.

"Dinner on Monday. What time?"

"Seven o'clock," said Voldemort, and Bellatrix turned up half her mouth.

"Seven on Monday. Dinner. Thank you, My Lord."

She turned to go back into the manor, and as she did, Voldemort called after her,

"Bellatrix."

She whirled, for he'd called her  _Miss Black_  up until now. He tucked his handkerchief away, the one smeared with her lipstick, and he said,

"You were a very fine dance partner. Perhaps we shall dance again sometime."

'Perhaps we shall, My Lord," said Bellatrix, her heart fluttering as she turned to go inside.

**Author's Note: Is this the fluffiest Bellamort fic I'm ever going to write? Yes. Definitely. Do I care? Nope.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! I know this one is SuperFloof, but whatever; I'm having fun writing it.**


	4. I Want Everything

"Good evening, sir."

Abraxas Malfoy appeared in the doorway of Voldemort's office. Voldemort raised his eyes and folded his hands on his desk.

"Hello. Thank you for letting me use the dining room again this evening, Malfoy."

"It's no problem at all, sir." Malfoy stepped into the office and narrowed his eyes, looking sceptical. He asked carefully, "Are you… courting the girl, sir?"

"Courting her?" Voldemort's mouth fell open. "No. Of course not. What would make you say such a ridiculous thing as that?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Dinner. Tea. A Wimbourne Wasps match. Time alone outside a wedding. Dinner again."

"What I do with my personal time is none of your business!" Voldemort snapped, and Malfoy looked taken aback. Voldemort realised he needed to treat carefully; he was borrowing Malfoy's house and hospitality. He cleared his throat and said, "I enjoy the girl. That's all."

"If I may offer just a touch of advice, sir," said Malfoy, "be careful with her. She is so young. She'll get all sorts of ideas. Ideas like… ideas that you  _are_  courting her. That you want more than just her body. She'll get all sorts of mad notions in her mind."

"She isn't a bloody little fool," Voldemort retorted. "She won't get ideas."

"As you say, sir." Malfoy bowed his head respectfully. "As you say."

"Is there anything else, Malfoy?" asked Voldemort, and Malfoy replied,

"I wanted to let you know, sir, that the Ministry is getting nervous about our movement. They are trying to figure out who the Death Eaters are."

"Well, good luck to them," Voldemort sneered, and Malfoy smirked.

"Good luck indeed, sir. They'll need it. That was all. Enjoy your meal. Scallops again, Dobby said?"

"They're a favourite of mine," Voldemort mumbled, and he watched as Malfoy stepped out of the room.

* * *

"Hello, My Lord," said Bellatrix, stepping up the foyer stairs in a scandalously short black dress. "Thank you for having me."

"Thank you for coming." He sounded like an idiot saying it like that, he thought. So he cleared his throat and told her, "I've prepared a menu that I hope you will enjoy. Including a dessert that is not cloyingly sweet."

"Since neither of us likes things too terribly sweet," she smiled, and he suddenly wanted to kiss her again. He led her down the corridor to the dining room, and when they were inside, he wandlessly pushed her chair out and mumbled,

"Food will be here soon."

But she didn't sit down. She just stood there, staring up at Lord Voldemort, and she informed him, as if he didn't know already,

"You kissed me."

"I did. What of it?" he demanded. "It was one kiss after too much firewhisky."

She looked a little wounded at that, and Voldemort thought perhaps Malfoy had been right. Bellatrix would get ideas. He cleared his throat and said,

"It was nothing at all. Don't go thinking that… that…"

He trailed off then, because she looked so damned pretty standing there in her short black dress, her hair wild and free falling around her shoulders. Suddenly he took her face in his hands and whispered,

"It was just one kiss."

"Mmm-hmm." Bellatrix put her hands to his chest and squeezed her fingers, cinching her grip on him, and he found that he liked that.  
"Touch me more," he heard himself say, and her hands went to his arms, running down the sleeves of his robes. He bent to kiss her again before he could stop himself, pressing his lips to hers and drawing her body against his as his tongue raked over the roof of her mouth. She moaned a little and backed up against the table. She was sliding up then, hiking herself up onto the table and sitting on the edge, and Voldemort put his hands to her knees as he kissed her. He glided his hands up from her knees to her bare thighs, revealed by her short skirt, and he groaned as he felt himself flush hard.

He wanted her. Oh, he wanted her.

His fingers gripped and pried at the insides of her thighs. She was soft here. Soft and thin and young. He wanted to feel every little part of her; every ounce of her needed to be in his hands. He squeezed and rubbed at the tender skin, feeling the radiating wet warmth coming from her knickers, and he realised just how quickly this was all moving.

He tore his mouth from hers and saw that the appetiser was on the plates.

"Food's here." He wiped at his lips with the inside of his wrist, and Bellatrix shook like mad as he helped her off the table.

* * *

"Scallops," she said knowingly as they sat opposite one another.

"You so rarely get to eat them," he teased, and she replied,

"Not anymore. Now, it seems, I have them often."

"Do you mind? Eating here? Often?" Voldemort seemed nervous, but Bellatrix just shook her head and put a bite of scallop into her mouth.

"Far from it, My Lord," she insisted. There was a long pause, and she told him, "Someday I'm going to fight battles for you."

"Yes, well, to that end." Voldemort set down his knife and fork and folded his hands on the table. "There is a meeting of Death Eaters on Friday. I should like you to be in attendance."

"To watch and learn, My Lord?" Bellatrix felt honoured beyond belief. She swelled up where she sat. But Voldemort shook his head and whispered,

"To become one of us."

"To become…" Bellatrix gnawed hard on her lip and tried not to cry.  _Do not cry in front of him_ , she thought.  _Not in front of him of all people._

"I want you as a Death Eater. Most of mine are useless," Voldemort complained, as their empty plates of scallops gave way to roast lemon chicken. He picked up his fork and knife and said, "You are not useless."

"I promise to try my very best to be anything but useless, My Lord," Bellatrix vowed. "I promise I will try to… no, wait. No. There is no  _trying._ I will give you everything. I will be everything you need me to be. I will be your messenger at Hogwarts, if you will it."

"That is precisely what I will, for this coming school term. I expect you to communicate with me regularly by owl and to see me at every opportunity," Voldemort said stiffly, sipping his wine. "You will be my eyes and ears at Hogwarts. And as for when you graduate… well, hopefully by then we will be strong enough for battles, Bellatrix, and you can fight for me in them."

"I will be the fiercest soldier that you've ever seen," Bellatrix promised, and Voldemort stared at her across the table for a very long moment.

"It was only one kiss," he murmured. "Just one kiss in a lantern-lit garden after too much firewhisky."

She didn't remind him that it had turned into kissing and groping here, too - that tonight's kissing had been far more vigorous than anything that had happened in that garden. She didn't remind him that he'd had his hands up her skirt, holding onto the insides of her thighs.

She wanted him to touch her breasts. She wanted him to kiss her neck. She wanted to kiss his neck. She wanted to suck his -

"Bellatrix."

She snapped her face up to him, and then she realised that the chicken they'd eaten had given way to a dark chocolate cake.

"I hope it isn't too sweet. I commanded Dobby to use a recipe that wasn't too sweet," said Voldemort. Bellatrix's eyes watered a little, and she just nodded a bit.

After dessert, he walked her out of the dining room and reminded her that she was to come back for tea, and then the Death Eater meeting.

"Tea," said Bellatrix, and as they stood in the foyer of Malfoy Manor, Voldemort whispered,

"It was only meant to be dinner and tea. Look at me now."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, and he shook his head. He kissed her forehead, and he said in a quiet voice,

"Do you have any idea how much more I want to do to you?"

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix said honestly, for she did not really know what Lord Voldemort wanted to do to her. He bent down and put his lips beside her ear, and he whispered carefully,

"Everything, Bellatrix. I want… I crave… everything."

Then he stood up and said in a crisp, firm voice,

"Everything in due time. First, tea. Then, we make you a Death Eater. Then I get my everything. Good evening, Miss Black. Thank you for coming to dinner."

**Author's Note: So he may be SuperFloof, but he's still in charge! And he wants to make her a Death Eater! And do everything to her. Mwah hahaha. Thank you for reading and reviewing; I apologize if you try and leave a guest review. I have tried to turn that feature off for the time being.**


	5. I Was Bored

"So. There's nothing between the two of you, eh?" Andromeda said the next day at the family dinner table. Bellatrix glared at her over her bowl of butternut squash soup. She flicked her eyes to her parents, who looked mightily curious, and to Narcissa, who kept eating as though nothing were happening.

"Nothing between…?" Druella asked, leading Bellatrix on, and Andromeda barrelled,

"Between her and Tom Riddle. They've had dinner and tea now,  _and_  they've gone to the Wimbourne Wasps match,  _and_  they danced at the wedding,  _and_  I saw her go outside there with him,  _and_ she had dinner with him again last night."

"My. How marvelous," said Cygnus Black III. "He's certainly exceeded my expectations for any bargain we made when we -"

"No, Daddy. This has nothing to do with bargains," said Bellatrix firmly. "He asked me to the Wimbourne match because he had an extra ticket, and we were just getting air at the wedding, and he asked me to dinner because…"

She glared at Andromeda again, knowing how her sister felt about the movement. She decided to let her father find out on Friday that she was becoming a Death Eater. Best to keep that secret.

"Because he wanted to discuss the movement with me," she fibbed, and she insisted, "I really don't want to talk about this anymore."

"There's something between the two of you," Andromeda nodded firmly, and Bellatrix tossed her spoon down into her soup. Her mother gasped, and Bellatrix snarled,

"You Mudblood-loving wench! There is  _nothing_ between -"

"Would it be the worst thing, Bella?" asked Narcissa gently. Bellatrix opened her mouth to answer, but suddenly their House Elf came toddling into the dining room, clutching a scroll that was bound with a wax seal.

"A letter for Miss Bellatrix," she wheezed, and she handed the scroll to Bellatrix.

"Pardon me," Bellatrix said, and as she rose from the table, she heard Andromeda say from behind her in a scoff,

"Mmm-hmm. There's nothing between them."

"Silence, Andy," Cygnus demanded, and Bellatrix hurried out of the dining room. She went out into the corridor, put her back to the wall, and cracked open the seal on the scroll. Her heart beat a frantic tattoo in her chest as she unfurled the scroll and read.

_I'm bored. Come to Malfoy Manor. -L.V._

She grinned. He was bored? He wanted her to come now? She put her knuckles to her lips. Maybe there was something between them, after all.

* * *

Lord Voldemort paced in his office, listening to a wizarding record from the 1940s. Orsino and the Bears. He had brought a drinks cart into the office, for he intended on getting profoundly drunk tonight. He had had meetings all day - with Avery and Nott about their new Ministry postings, with Malfoy about paying rent (which Malfoy refused), with Lestrange about the  _Daily Prophet_. He'd been busy. But now he was bored, and now he was craving Bellatrix.

Bellatrix. She'd been like an insect rattling around his brain these last days. Why she was so insistent in his mind, he didn't know, but she was. She was there, ever-present, ever part of his consciousness. So he'd sent her an owl asking her to come - no, commanding that she come - and he knew she would do it. She'd be here any moment now.

There was a knock on the office door. She wouldn't need House Elf introduction tonight.

"Enter," said Voldemort, and the office door creaked slowly open. Bellatrix came walking inside, looking pretty in a calf-length, modest black velvet dress with long sleeves. Her hair was pulled into a braid, and he could tell she'd been pulled away from something.

"Did I interrupt dinner?' he asked, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"It was just butternut squash soup and bread, My Lord," she said, "and I'd nearly finished. Besides, the dinner conversation was less than enlightening."

"Was it?"

She shut the door behind her, and as she walked into the office, he asked her,

"You didn't mind my summons, then?"

"Not one bit, sir," Bellatrix grinned, eyeing the drinks cart. "Are those for us?"  
"Yes. What do you like to drink?" asked Voldemort, and Bellatrix looked thoughtful for a long moment.

"I haven't been drinking long," she confessed. "I'm only seventeen. I like Elf-Made wine."

"Wine it is." He uncorked a bottle using his wand and poured her a generous helping, which he Levitated over to her. He poured himself some firewhisky, and he held his glass up in the air and said, "To calls answered."

"Cheers," said Bellatrix, sipping deeply from her wine. She sipped and sipped and sipped, until Voldemort guffawed and told her,

"You'll be sick."

"Sorry." She lowered her glass of wine and smirked a bit at Voldemort, who sipped more prudently from his firewhisky. He watched her finish off her glass of wine and set it down on her desk, and then she said,

"I know this song! Orsino and the Bears, isn't it?"  
"Yes. It was very popular in my youth. But that was ages and ages ago," Voldemort admitted, sipping more firewhisky. Bellatrix walked over to the drinks cart and poured herself more wine, which she drank quickly, so quickly that he told her again,

"You'll be sick."

"I'll be careful," she grinned. But she looked woozy now, after two enormous and quickly downed glasses of wine. Voldemort set down his glass of whisky as the record began playing a slower song, a 40s ballad by Orsino that had been very popular at weddings just after Tom Riddle had graduated Hogwarts.

"Shall we dance?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix grinned more broadly than ever. She let him sweep her up into his arms. He put his hand between her shoulder blades, and he clutched at her hand with his. They began to sway, and he confessed,

"I prefer this to dancing at the wedding. At a public place. This is better."

"Is it?" Bellatrix stared up into his eyes, her own gaze glittering, and Voldemort murmured,

"I asked you to come because I was bored."

"That's what you said," she affirmed. "You were bored."

"What did you tell your parents?" he asked curiously, and she scoffed.

"Nothing. I just Disapparated from the house. They don't need to know my whereabouts every minute of every day. I'm seventeen, not twelve."

Voldemort winced a little at that. He rubbed at her back and wished she were older. Why couldn't she be twenty-five, at least? He wouldn't feel like such a… such a…

"My Lord?"

He must have looked distracted. She seemed concerned. He stopped dancing and chewed his lip.

"I wanted you," he whispered, and Bellatrix's eyes went wide.

"You wanted me," she repeated. "What did you want, My Lord?"

" _You_ ," he specified, "and it couldn't wait until tomorrow at tea."

Bellatrix's eyelids looked heavy all of a sudden, and she murmured,

"Take what you want. My Lord."

He released her back and her hand and slid his fingers into Bellatrix's curls. He squeezed at her scalp a little and bent down, kissing her forehead and then her cheekbones, one at a time. Her lips came next, gentle kisses planted on her mouth. She parted her lips to let him in, and he pushed his tongue between her lips and dragged it around, coursing the roof of her mouth and twining their tongues together.

He pulled back and whispered,

"You're too short for this."

"I'm sorry. I can't help it," Bellatrix mumbled, laughing a little. Voldemort smirked at her, moving her over along the perimeter of the room until they reached Voldemort's desk. When they were there, he pushed her up onto the edge, so that she was sitting just like she'd been on the table in the dining room the other day.

Bellatrix parted her legs a little, and Voldemort strolled up until he stood between Bellatrix's legs. He threaded his arm around her back and pulled her close to him, and he knew she'd be able to feel his burgeoning erection against the inside of her thigh. His breath mingled with hers, and he pushed her hair away.

"Let me kiss you here," he commanded, though in a way he was asking permission. He put his mouth to Bellatrix's neck, and she moaned gently as he began to lap and suck at her flesh. He dragged his tongue harder and harder, and then, very suddenly, his cock went so hard that he wasn't sure what to do with it.

"Oh, Bella…" The shortened name felt right, and she liked it. She moaned louder at the word.  _Bella._ His hands were all over her then, groping her breasts through her dress, squeezing her waist, grasping her thighs.

"Please let me touch you," she begged, sounding breathless. "Please let me touch your… your…"

"Cock. Say it. Say  _cock_." Voldemort reached down into his robes and unbuttoned his trousers.

"Please let me touch your cock, My Lord," said Bellatrix, and Voldemort tipped his head back as he realised he wasn't going to last half a minute once she touched him.

No. This was going too far. He needed to stop this.

No. He wanted her. He wanted her hands on him. He whipped out his cock. He jerked it toward her and snatched at her hand, wrapping it round his shaft, showing her, teaching her. He showed her how to focus on the tip, how to pump with just the right amount of pressure. She did as he demonstrated, and she breathed through wet, parted lips, her eyes heavy as she stared at him.

"My Lord," she whispered frantically. "My Lord, My Lord, My Lord…"

"Damn it." Voldemort could no longer ignore the tightening within him, and everything snapped. As he came, his ears went hot and his chest went tight, and his come leaped out all over Bellatrix's thigh, all over her black velvet dress.

He should clean her up, he thought. He should touch her until she came. But instead he just kissed her and kissed her and kissed her until their lips were bruised and they could hardly breathe. Bellatrix reached for her wand and Scoured and Siphoned up the mess herself. She tasted like wine. She tasted sweet. She was so delicious.

Tomorrow she would taste like tea.

**Author's Note: Things are definitely heating up between these two. What happens when he makes her a Death Eater? How will Cygnus react? How will the others react? To answer a PM for everyone - no, this won't be novel-length. This will just be a romp, and then my goal is to write Part III of the Storm Series.**


	6. The Beginning

"We have to keep our voices down," Voldemort warned Bellatrix, "or else Mrs Malfoy will invite us into the other parlour. She's got the Mulcibers and the Averys over today."

Bellatrix grinned. "Well, if there's one thing I do not want to do today, My Lord, it's socialise. With anyone except for you, that is."

Voldemort smirked as he poured himself a cup of ginger lemongrass tea, and he watched Bellatrix pour herself a cup of mint. They sipped in quiet for a moment as a harsh rain fell outside, and Bellatrix mused,

"It rains whenever we have tea."

"So it does." He tipped his head and sipped his ginger tea. "Have you many friends at school?"

"No," she confessed. "Not really. I've got a few… friendly acquaintances. Sorry. I probably seem quite pathetic."

"No. I didn't have friends, either. Followers, but not friends." Voldemort sipped his tea again. "Friends are grossly overrated, I think."

Bellatrix gave him an odd look, and he knew why. Were they not friends, the two of them? If they weren't friends, what were they? He gulped and set down his tea.

"Why is it that you want to become part of my movement?"

"Because of you," she answered, and he could tell she was being honest. She sipped her mint tea and then explained, "It's all you, Master. I believe in Pureblood supremacy, of course. I believe in what you tell your followers. But most of all, Master, I believe in  _you_ , and -"

"Wait. What did you just call me?"

"Master?" she repeated softly, as if she were afraid she'd made some kind of mistake. But Voldemort aimed his wand at the door leading from the parlour to the corridor and whispered,

" _Colloportus._  Come here."

She set down her tea cup and rose slowly from her chair, looking shaky on her legs. Voldemort sat up slowly and murmured,

"I'm going to make you mine. And I will be your master."

"Yes." She whispered the word, a silver plea on the air, and when she approached him, she was elegance incarnate. He held a hand out to her, a hand steady as a stone, and when she put her fingers into his palm, he brought her closer. He encouraged her to put a knee on either side of his thighs, her skirt sliding up her milky thighs. She took his hands and dragged them along those creamy thighs, those silky thighs, and he tipped his head back a little.

"I will make you mine," he informed her, his voice a wisp in the air. "I will be your master."

"You will be my master." She bent down and kissed his lips like she knew what she was doing, like she was some sort of expert in all of this, though of course she was newer than spring. She pushed her lips against his, pressing, urging, and Voldemort opened his mouth.

_Kiss me harder,_  he thought.  _Kiss me now._

Her tongue swirled against his, dancing, pulling, and she put her hands to his chest.

Suddenly there was a knocking on the door, and Bellatrix flew back so urgently that she careened into the tea cart and sent teacups and sugar flying.

Voldemort scowled and cleaned up the mess with a flick of his wand, reaching to help Bellatrix stand.

"Sir? Are you in there?" called Abraxas Malfoy, and Voldemort's cheeks went hot as embers. He unlocked the door with another flick of his wand and glared at Bellatrix. He cleared his throat and called,

"Enter."

The door opened, and then the Malfoys and the Mulcibers and the Averys came marching in.

"We thought it would be terribly rude not to invite you," said Mrs Malfoy, "to our early dinner. You simply must join us."

"Oh. Erm… thank you for the invitation, but I think I'll be going home." Bellatrix brushed sugar off of her skirts and reached for a napkin, dabbing at the spilled tea all over her black stocking, the large splotch on her thigh. The others looked amused, as though they knew they'd walked in on something.

"I'll join you for dinner. Thank you," Voldemort said crisply. "See you then. Goodbye."

Malfoy gave a slow nod, as though he knew he'd been summarily dismissed, and when the door shut again, Voldemort said to Bellatrix,

"Should have known better. The Manor is far from private today."

"I apologise, My Lord," she whispered, still dabbing, but he Siphoned up the spilled tea on her and tipped up her chin. He kissed her lips gently and said,

"I'll see you at the meeting."

"The meeting where you'll make me yours," Bellatrix smiled. "Where you'll become my master."

"Yes. That one." He kissed her forehead and kept his lips there. "See you then."

* * *

Bellatrix stared at her father across the table in the meeting-room. He did not dare speak a word, but he was obviously confused as to why she was there. Bellatrix just smirked a little. Suddenly the door to the room opened, and everyone stood.

"Sit," commanded Lord Voldemort, and everyone at the table took their seats. Bellatrix felt two dozen eyes upon her, but Voldemort didn't make anyone wait to find out why she'd come.

"This meeting is being held to welcome a new Death Eater into our ranks," he said simply. "Bellatrix. Rise."

She flew to her feet, stumbling a little and hearing titters from a few of the older wizards. She approached Voldemort when he beckoned to her, and she flicked her eyes to her father. His eyes went completely round, and he seemed somewhere between horrified and proud. Cygnus visibly gulped as his daughter stepped up to Voldemort, who pulled back her left sleeve and touched his wand to the inside of her forearm.

"Bellatrix Black," Voldemort said in a smooth voice, "Do you vow to serve me now and forever, in every single capacity you possess, unto death or worse, through torture and agony and bliss? Do you swear it now, before these here gathered, for all eternity? Do you swear it to me?"

"I do swear it, Master," Bellatrix said, and she shivered all over. Voldemort dragged his wand around the inside of her forearm, drawing a beautiful design that etched itself into her flesh into a maroon design that faded darker and darker until it was inky black. Everyone round the table hissed in pain, and then applause broke out. Cygnus Black swiped at tears that had formed in his wrinkled eyes, and Abraxas Malfoy looked not at all surprised.

"Master," Bellatrix murmured, and Voldemort dragged his thumb around her fresh Dark Mark.

"Go sit down," he whispered, and she nodded, bowing low to him. The rest of the meeting consisted of a few business matters - checking in with Ministry positions and the like. Then everyone was dismissed. Everyone except for Bellatrix.

"Stay," Voldemort insisted, and she remained planted in her seat as the room cleared. Her father stared at her over his shoulder as he left, and Voldemort called after him, "Utmost secrecy, Cygnus."

"Yes, sir," Cygnus agreed. He shut the door behind him, and Voldemort muttered,

" _Colloportus._ "

Bellatrix eyed him from where she sat. He licked his bottom lip and folded his hands on the table.

"It was only meant to be dinner and tea," he reminded her. "I made a bargain with your father to get a large donation, and in exchange, I was meant to suffer through dinner and tea with you."

"And did you suffer, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked gently. He shook his head, reaching to cover her hand with his. He laughed a little, almost bitterly, and he said,

"Dinner and tea, and dinner and tea. The Wimbourne Wasps and a kiss at a wedding. A dalliance borne of boredom. And there will be so much more, Bellatrix. So much more."

"There will?" Her eyes went heavy with tears then, and she struggled to suppress them. Voldemort nodded and raised his dark eyes to her, saying in a low hiss,

"This is just the beginning."

**THE END**

**Author's Note: Well, well, well. That was a fun romp, wasn't it? If you follow me as an author, my goal next is to re-read the Storm Series (for continuity's sake) and then write Part III (** _**Thoughts That Would Thick My Blood** _ **) at long, long last.**

**Thanks for indulging me in this fun little go and for the reviews. Feedback is always appreciated.**


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